


Schoolhouse

by deleerium



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Desk Sex, Fucking, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-01
Updated: 2008-02-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleerium/pseuds/deleerium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small town, 1800’s Minnesota. Think Little House on the Prairie meets My Fair Lady -- only dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schoolhouse

Orlando always showed up late for school, his faded newsboy cap pulled down over his uneven curls. It didn't matter how early he got up, there were always more chores to do than time, but he and the teacher had an understanding. Showing up was the important part.

He opened the door quietly, his second-hand shoes scuffing the boards, mended shirt creased by a pair of faded suspenders, one strap fastened with a safety pin. He slid into his usual place -- last seat, middle row -- and muffled a curse when his too-tall knees banged the child-sized desk. He always got a few looks and a half-dozen more snickers that the teacher shushed with a hard, blue stare through wire-framed glasses. 

Orlando didn't look up as he set his lunch pail under his chair. He untied the string hugging his worn stack of school books. It was impossible not to stand out in the one-room school house. He was three years older than anyone in the highest grade, but reading on the fifth grade level. Math was different, but still. As quietly as he could, he opened a level five reader and propped his chin on his hand, staring at the page while the younger children finished their sums. After a few minutes, he lifted his head, risking a glance at the teacher. 

The teacher had his back to the class, writing simple calculations on the black board in an elegant hand. His gray tweed suit emphasized the taper of his narrow waist, the fabric riding high enough in back to show slivers of his starched white shirt. His dark hair was wavy but neat, every strand held in place by a conservative amount of pomade. His pants were creased and spotless, his shoes shined to a mirror. Everything about him sharp as a tack, clean as a whistle -- store bought and ready made. And completely out of place in the tiny Minnesota town. 

Then the teacher turned around and looked right at Orlando. 

Orlando's stomach collided with his heart. He dropped his gaze before he could think anything idiotic about blue cornflowers in spring or the color of the sky on a perfect summer day. Friday's were always particularly difficult, considering. He read the same page twice before he heard the teacher tell the rest of the class to do the problems on the board. 

The polished shoes clicked softly on the freshly swept floor. The smell of pomade and summer and skin nearly knocked Orlando off the chair when the teacher stopped at his desk and leaned over. “Good morning,” Elijah murmured and held out his hand expectantly. “Do you have that exposition for me, Mr. Bloom?” 

“Mornin', Professor. Yeah,” Orlando said, and fished in his pocket for the wrinkled sheets of paper covered with his large, childish writing. He handed it over, careful not to touch the pale fingers with his larger, darker hand. “Three pages on fishin' struction, just like you asked.” 

“Yes, not yeah. Fish-ing. In-struc-tion,” Elijah said, unfolding the pages. 

“Yes. Fish-ing-in-struc-tion,” Orlando repeated obediently, with another glance. Elijah was smiling at him. There was that collision thing again. He yanked his cap off and ran a hand through his too long hair before setting it in place again. Something to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t do anything idiotic, like pull the teacher down in his lap. 

“Excellent. I'll have this back to you after school today, alright?” 

“Okay, yeah.” 

Elijah's eyebrows went up. 

Orlando's mouth twitched. “Yes, Professor. That would be fine.” Enunciating every word. 

“I've told you I'm a teacher, Mr. Bloom. Not a professor,” Elijah said, more amusement than chastisement in his voice. 

Orlando leaned back and crossed his long legs at the ankle, one hand running the length of his mended suspender. “I like calling you professor. It suits.” 

Elijah cleared his throat and ran a few fingers through his perfect pomade. “How is the Calculus coming along? Did you look at that practice test I gave you? The one for the state exam?” 

Shrugging one shoulder, Orlando tugged the wrinkled pages from another pocket. “Yeah.” He handed Elijah the book. “Finished it. You got another one I can try?” 

“Do you have.” Elijah corrected him automatically and took the pages, scanning quickly through the notes and answers worked out neatly in the margins. There were some shortcuts here and there that he'd have to double check against the teacher's manual. He flipped through the last few pages. Every problem was answered. Correctly. 

Orlando rolled his eyes. “Do you have another one I can try? I liked working on this. Lot easier than all that readin' and writin'.” He paused, waiting for Elijah to correct him, then noticed Elijah was still staring at him. 

“You finished it,” Elijah finally said. 

Orlando shifted in the desk. “Yes, I finished it. It took longer than the others, but it's just shapes and numbers. I'm good at that stuff.” 

Elijah made an indescribable noise. “Yeah, you're good at that stuff.” 

It was Orlando's turn to raise his brows. “Yes.” 

“What?” 

“Yes. You said yeah.” 

Elijah blinked, blue eyes refocusing behind the round lenses. “Yes, sorry. I meant yes. But no, this is it, except for the real thing.” His laugh was unsteady as he tucked the papers under his arm. “I'll have to go to town this Saturday. Order the test from the state. And some more books from Boston, graduate level,” muttering to himself as he returned to his desk. 

Orlando watched the hem of Elijah's jacket as he walked up the aisle. Noticing how it bulged a little just over the curve of his as- 

“Alright everyone, open your readers to level five. Billy, can you read the first page for us please?” 

Orlando cleared his throat and opened his reader, determined to pay attention for the rest of the morning. And try not to think about what the Professor looked like under all those stuffy clothes. 

\+ 

Elijah checked his pocket watch when the sun started to get high on the horizon. “Okay, that'll do for now. One hour recess for dinner.” The classroom exploded with activity, children pushing one another to be first out the double doors and into the afternoon, lunch pails swinging behind them. 

Orlando was the last student to stand. He stretched the cramp of the small desk from his long limbs and bent over to retrieve his lunch pail. When he straightened, he glanced in Elijah's direction and grinned. 

\+ 

Orlando was whistling as he walked out of the schoolhouse, heading for his favorite spot under the largest tree. He was in a good mood. When he'd been called on to read his page, he hadn't stumbled a single word. 

And he'd caught the teacher staring. 

“Lando, will you come push the swing for us?” 

“Just a minute, Livvy,” Orlando said, to the dark-haired little girl. “Let me finish my dinner first, then I'll give you a push so big you can fly right up to the moon, okay?” 

She flashed a gap-toothed grin and nodded, running back to the other side of the yard to collect her friends. 

Recess was Orlando's favorite time of day. His shady spot gave him a view of the entire playground with the added bonus of putting him directly in front of the schoolhouse doors. When the light hit just right, he could see all the way to the back of the large room, to the top of Elijah's head bent intently over the desk. Sometime he could see Elijah reach up and pull off his golden glasses, pausing to rub the bridge of his narrow nose. 

Orlando leaned against the tree, one arm propped on a bent knee as he ate the last of his cheese sandwich. He was too old to play ball with the older boys and too big to play with the little ones. Most of the girls were brave enough to use him as a merry go round mule and favorite swing pusher. He also spent time as the unofficial playground ranger, seeing to the little ones’ cuts and scrapes, and stopping fights before things got out of hand. 

The back of Orlando's neck was glowing from his swing set exertions by the time he clomped up the schoolhouse steps. He nearly ran into Elijah, on his way out to ring the bell. 

“Mr. Bloom.” Elijah's cheeks were flushed, his hair starting to spring free from the pomade. “I want to have a word with you about your essay. After school. Today.” His lips pursed as he grabbed the bell rope and yanked hard. 

Orlando shoved both hands in his pockets, biting the insides of his cheeks in an effort not to grin. “Yes, Professor.” He ducked into the building before Elijah's foot could connect with any part of his retreating body. 

\+ 

By the time Elijah shut his book, most of the children had been staring longingly out the windows for the better part of an hour. Every child in the room sat up. 

Elijah stood up and came around his desk. “I want everyone to go through the exercises in their readers before Monday. No excuses.” He checked his pocket watch, glanced around the room, and took mercy. “Class dismissed, except for Mr. Bloom.” 

The commotion was instantaneous, children scrambling out the doors with screams of laughter. Orlando and Elijah stared at one another, waiting until the schoolyard was silent, the last child disappearing down the road. 

Orlando stood up, went to the double doors and closed them. He turned around, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Elijah. 

Elijah straightened, both hands on his hips, his tone near to a roar. “I have never read anything so...so...dirty in all my life. Don't turn your back on me.” 

Orlando slid the bolt across the door, locking it from inside. He walked over to the first window, lowered first the sash and then the shade. 

Elijah's cheeks were flushed, his hand tunneling through his now wild hair. “I can't believe you had the audacity to write it down. All those references to how to handle a man's rod, and the importance of finding a good fishing hole for the rod." 

“Au-da-ci-ty?” Orlando closed every window and drew every shade on the east side of the building before crossing to the other side. 

“Audacity. It means fearless daring. Heedless of all propriety.” Elijah tugged at his shirt collar, skin glowing in the room cut off from the summer breeze. 

“Mm.” Orlando smiled and shut and locked the last window, pulling the shade to the bottom. 

Elijah ripped off his jacket and dropped it on his desk. “Mr. Bloom.” His hands were back on his hips. “You cannot go around putting things like that down on paper.” 

Orlando stood in front of Elijah. “I can't?” he asked, and moved closer. 

“No, you cannot.” Elijah's eyes widened and he took a step backward, only to be stopped by the desk. He was breathing hard. 

Orlando kept coming, crossing the room one slow step at a time, until he was standing chest to chest with Elijah. “Your glasses are fogging up, Professor.” He tugged on Elijah's collar, unbuttoning it with a practiced turn of his fingers. 

The starched white paper swung away from Elijah's throat, baring skin. “Mr. Bloom,” he whispered, hands white knuckled where they gripped the edge of his desk. 

“Orlando,” Orlando murmured and shuffled between Elijah's feet, one hand curving around his narrow waist. He leaned forward, one inch at a time, until there was nothing between them but two layers of clothing and racing hearts. 

Elijah went backwards in slow motion, hands slipping on the desk. 

Orlando followed, holding their weight with one hand braced against the wood, mouths so close they shared the same breath. 

Elijah's arms crept around his shoulders. “Orlando.” He swallowed audibly and licked his lips, his gaze dropping to Orlando's mouth. “We really shouldn't keep,” 

“Doin' this. I know.” Orlando lowered them to the scarred wood surface, hand sweeping the books and papers aside. He could feel Elijah's body swelling, his own responding, until his ragged breathing matched Elijah's. “But I can't stop. Can you?” 

Elijah shook his head, and was stopped by a tornado of a kiss. It was all he could do to hang on, mouth opening wider under the assault, hands knocking off the worn newsboy hat, grabbing fistfuls of soft, dark curls. Mouths locked, they groaned in unison as Orlando lifted Elijah, grinding against him again and again before finally getting Elijah up on the desk, thighs spread to hold Orlando's hips. 

Hands flew, tearing open starched shirts and dragging down worn suspenders, pushing up work shirts and ripping off fancy braces. Every week was like this, had been like this for months. A button flew off the flap of Orlando's homespun pants and bounced across the floor. Elijah's trousers and drawers joined his jacket. His sock garters left indents in Orlando's hips as Orlando slid in with the help of a low moan, sweat and spit. 

Orlando grunted something dirty. Elijah swore something dirty back and hiked up his legs. Orlando folded Elijah at the hips, knees hooked around his arms, hands locked on his shoulders. The tops of Orlando's thighs knocked against the desk as he sucked the sweat from the base of Elijah's throat. The desk crept with violent, quiet squeaks across the floor. 

He felt Elijah's shout as a vibration against his tongue and a wet smear against his belly. Orlando's heart raced, and his thrusts faltered. The end struck suddenly, a bolt of electricity from his center as he went over, hips jerking against Elijah's skin. 

They lay frozen in sweaty tableau, sprawled across Elijah's desk. Orlando was the first to move, lifting his face from Elijah's throat. Elijah lowered his legs. They stared at one another until their mouths touched, this kiss slow and slanting, taking turns until a cricket sang and they felt the world draw in around them. They reluctantly drew apart. 

Elijah found a rag to clean them up and threw it in the heating stove. Orlando picked up the scattered books and papers, then helped Elijah fasten his braces and button his collar. 

Elijah retrieved Orlando's cap from the floor, dusted it off and tugged it down over the dark curls. 

+

“You'll have to write another essay,” Elijah murmured from his knees, sewing the button back on Orlando's trouser flap. 

“I know.” Orlando risked a sweep of his hand through Elijah's messy hair, looking for glimpses of auburn. 

Elijah snapped the thread with his teeth and stood up. “Summer break will be here soon.” 

Orlando wrapped his hands around his suspenders and looked at the floor. “Yeah. Three months.” He tried to smile at Elijah. “No school.” 

“No,” Elijah whispered and took a step back, adding space. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up firmly against his nose. “I'm leaving when the school year is over, going to Europe. My family... it's my tour abroad.” 

Orlando dropped his hands. He tugged his hat lower on his head and added another foot between them, backing towards the door. “Europe. That's great. You'll get to see all that famous stuff you talk about in class.”

“Orlando," Elijah drew a deep breath, "this is my last year in Walnut Grove.” 

The blood drained from Orlando's face, his body stiff. 

Elijah took a step forward. "Orlando, I..." 

Orlando stumbled backwards abruptly, one hand held up. “It's fine.” He dropped his hand, and his gaze. “I'll have the essay for you next week, Professor. But I'll likely be late, what with the plowing and all.” 

Elijah blanched and turned away, hands shifting papers on his desk. “That's fine." His voice was thick. "Being here is all that matters.” He made a fist around a stack of papers, mangling them beyond reading. “Good evening, Mr. Bloom.” He didn't turn around until he heard Orlando's slow shuffle, listening for the door lock sliding back. He closed his eyes when he heard it shut behind him. 

\+ 

Locked in his room at the boarding house, his supper untouched on a tray, Elijah burned the lamp oil well past midnight, writing letters. He would send one by special courier to Boston when he got into Minneapolis tomorrow. The others had much farther to travel. He fell asleep at his writing desk and woke up before dawn with sealing wax glued to his cheek. 

\+ 

Orlando stayed up long past the stroke of twelve, the single candle providing enough light for him to stare endlessly at the same page in his reader. He fell asleep at the kitchen table, and woke up before dawn with his practice slate stuck to his arm. 

He was rinsing his head in the cistern pump when his Ma stuck her head out the back door and told him coffee was ready. And told him not to waste a candle again – nobody could learn while they were asleep. 

\+ 

Orlando was late to school again on Monday, shuffling into his desk with as little noise as possible. Elijah didn't look up from his lesson.   
They spoke as little as possible, Elijah handing back the test, Orlando taking the paper with his new assignments, every bit of the exchange done in silence. When Elijah dismissed the class, Orlando left with children. 

Tuesday and Wednesday were the same, student and teacher playing their parts, speaking only when absolutely necessary. Orlando caught Elijah staring at him just once. Elijah never caught Orlando’s secret looks. 

When Elijah called recess on Thursday, Orlando stayed. He pulled folded papers from the back of a book and handed over his new composition. “I picked something else to write about." Careful not to meet Elijah’s gaze. "And I have to tell you I can't be here Friday. I have to take Pa into the city.” 

Elijah pressed the papers flat on his desk, staring at the familiar, crooked writing. “Alright, I'll work up your lessons before you leave today.” He let Orlando get all the way to the door before he looked up and said, “You'll be back on Monday?” 

“Yeah.” Orlando looked over his shoulder at Elijah. Elijah's face. He was tempted to stay, find someone else to take his father to town. “Yes.” 

\+ 

But he wasn't. Elijah didn't worry much when Orlando didn't show up on Monday. Trips to town sometimes took an extra day. 

On Tuesday, Elijah spent most of recess standing inside the schoolhouse door, watching over the children and trying to pretend he wasn't more interested in watching the road. 

Wednesday, Elijah assigned extra homework, even to the youngest grades. And gave out six detentions. 

Thursday was worse. 

When Orlando shuffled into his usual seat before the bell on Friday morning, it was all Elijah could do not to stalk to the back of the room and shake him. His hand trembled when he wrote the daily lessons on the board. They didn't exchange a single word that morning. 

Elijah called recess, but remained behind his desk long after the last child raced out the door. 

Orlando sat in his desk, arms crossed, staring at his feet. 

"You'll fall behind if you keep this up." Elijah's tone was sharp. 

Orlando looked up. "I had business in town." And planting to finish. And I need practice getting used to the idea of you not being here every damn day. 

Elijah pressed his lips together, but remained silent. 

Orlando untangled himself from his desk and stalked to the window. "So, who's the new teacher gonna be?" 

"Going to be." 

Orlando spun around, yanked off his hat, and threw it on his desk. "Jesus Christ! Yes, go-ing to be, yes ma'am, no sir, I have to, in-struc-tion, fish-ing, au-da-shit-ty, who's the new teacher?" 

"Audacity," Elijah whispered. 

"Dammit, Elijah," Orlando said, the words escaping through a hysterical chuckle as he raked both hands through his hair. 

Elijah's heart slammed into his stomach at the sound of his Christian name from Orlando's lips. It was a first. "I don't know. The board hasn't selected anyone yet." 

Orlando could only manage a nod. He turned to look out a window, suspenders clutched tight in a single fist. 

Elijah's chair scraped as he pushed back from his desk and came around it. He stopped a dozen feet away. It was recess, the door was open, the school yard full of kids. "Come with me," he whispered. 

Orlando's bark of laughter made Elijah wince. "That pomade you use has finally affected your brain. You're plain crazy. Go with you." The last three words were tortured with calm. He turned around. "Elijah, I couldn't even afford the ticket to Minneapolis," his lips twisted, "third class." 

Elijah took a step closer. "I can," he said. 

"Stop it." Orlando snatched his hat up and threw it at Elijah's chest. "I can't leave, so it's not worth talking about." 

Elijah caught it and threw it back. "Why the hell not?" 

"Pa's sick." Orlando's knuckles were white where he clutched the hat. It was a full minute before he continued. "The trip to town was to a doctor, a specialist." He pulled the hat back and forth between his hands. "If things go bad, " his voice broke, "there's no way Ma can run the farm by herself. It'll be hard enough with just me, what with Eric off doing god knows what in California. I can't. Just. Leave." 

"Mr. Wood!" Billy banged up the stairs and through the door. "Livvy just broke Dominic's nose and there's blood everywhere." Melodramatic as only an eleven year old can make it. 

Orlando was already moving. He took the schoolhouse steps in one jump. 

Elijah stared at the crumpled hat left on the floor, the afternoon sun making the room glow red. “Who in the cornbread hell is Eric?”

\+ 

Orlando wasn't at school the entire next week. 

Or the week after. 

Elijah alternated between resigned and pissed as hell at least twice a day. At least he'd had sense enough to make his lesson plans ahead of time. All he had to do was make it through each day. 

By the end of the third week, he’d almost stopped watching the door. It wasn't until he was burning another ration of oil Friday night that he remembered the letters he'd sent all those weeks before. He hadn't been back to the city yet to see if there was a response. 

He didn't have the cash on hand to go to the livery stable and the bank wouldn't open until Monday. Even the train didn't run until too late. There was only one other option. First thing Saturday morning, he retrieved his bicycle from the shed behind the boarding house. 

The bicycle was a present from his family, shipped all the way from Boston. It was a long way into the city, even for a horse and rider. But not for a man with a penny-farthing bike. 

\+ 

There was a barn raising at the Mortensen's on Sunday. They lived in the next valley over, so most of the town, including the preacher, got up early, packed as much wood and tools as they could spare and made the two hour trip. The men worked hard, neighbor helping neighbor a way of life. The preacher even gave a short sermon over the basket lunches before the men went back to work. 

Orlando stayed later than the others, helping Mr. Mortensen hang the barn doors. He was persuaded to stay for one more cup of coffee and a piece of Mrs. Mortensen's famous peach pie, but politely declined the offer of a bed in the new bard. He climbed into his wagon for the journey home long after the sun was set. 

It was a new moon, the road a pale outline through the high prairie grass. Orlando was still a good hour from home when he heard someone, or something, approaching. It happened so fast Orlando didn't have time to be startled by the surreal vision of Elijah floating nearly five feet in the air behind him. But Orlando's horse had definitely never seen anything like it. 

Orlando pulled back on the reins, but it was too late. The horse veered, the wagon tipped, the bicycle swerved and they all collided with a thunk and a screech of metal. 

Elijah took a header and disappeared into the high grass at the edge of the road. Orlando jumped down from the wagon to get the horse under control. 

By the time Orlando got the horse calm and the bicycle untangled, Elijah was struggling back onto the road. 

"You hurt?" Orlando spoke quick and quiet. 

Elijah shook his head and straightened his glasses. "Wind knocked out of me, that's all." 

Orlando led the horse and wagon a dozen yards off the road and went back for the bike. Elijah scrambled to help and they dragged the mangled metal through the high grass and hefted it into the back of the wagon. 

There was nothing left to do, no sign of the accident. 

Orlando turned and headed deeper into the prairie, Elijah a half-step behind him. They walked faster, the farther they got from the road. Then they were running, putting distance between them and everything and everyone. Until Orlando stopped, turning fast enough to catch the full power of Elijah colliding with his entire body, mouth first. 

They shook with the force of it, bodies locked together, unable to manage anything but the awkward, circular dance of trying to get closer than physics would allow. A gentle dip in the landscape sent them tumbling into the grass, where they wrestled until Elijah's hands broke free and framed Orlando's face. They broke apart with only enough space between their lips to gasp for breath. 

Orlando rested his forehead against Elijah's temple, mouth rocking against his jaw. Tangled in the tall grass, miles from nowhere, their only audience the starry heavens. 

They made a bed without sparing a stitch of clothing, wrapping soft piles of summer grass with both shirts and trousers. They laid down bare before one another in starlight for the very first time, and kissed until they lost track. 

Elijah followed the shadows and highlights of Orlando's skin with his fingertips, until Orlando arched and trembled. 

Orlando mapped the sharp silhouette of Elijah’s body with his palms until it wasn't enough, and being pressed skin to skin was too much. 

Orlando rolled to his side and pulled Elijah in, back to front, lifting a thigh and sinking in with the help of whispers, a willing tongue, and wet, shaking fingers. He rocked slowly in and out. Elijah hissed and clutched Orlando's hip, demanding yes, more, and right there. Orlando rolled him forward, pushed up his knee and sank deeper -- yes, more, right there -- until Elijah clawed the dirt and whimpered his name. 

Orlando's hand slipped around Elijah's waist, and he wrapped his fingers around Elijah's length. Elijah bucked and snarled with pleasure, whispering dark longings that made Orlando stroke harder and do the same, cursing into the damp hair on the back of Elijah's neck. 

Elijah's breath hitched and burst out as a wild sound. Orlando groaned when he felt the first pulse into his fist. When Elijah started breathing again, Orlando hooked an arm around his hips and worked him back and forth on his length until Elijah’s whispering began again, from darker places. Orlando groaned and came so hard his fingers left bruises where they clutched Elijah's hips. 

\+ 

They lay naked under the stars, Orlando's head on Elijah's shoulder, watching the constellations move above them. 

"Is this all we've been about?" Orlando's question was quiet. 

Elijah wrapped both arms across Orlando's chest, face pressed against his hair. "Don't take this personally, but you can be such an idiot." Orlando frowned and Elijah smoothed the lines from his brow with a chuckle. "Why do you think I stayed a year past my original obligation?" 

Orlando sniffed and pulled a piece of grass out of the ground, twirling it between his fingers. "Because you like the way I fuck." 

Elijah hit him. "Don't cuss." 

Orlando's eyebrows went up. "I seem to recall you saying that exact same word, repeatedly, along with instructions as to who I should be doing it to and how," his smile smug, "not half an hour ago." 

Elijah hit him again. "That's not the the only thing about you that I love." 

The stars waited until one of them broke the silence. Orlando touched the back of Elijah’s hand with a fingertip. "I used to wish you were a girl.” 

"What?" More of a squawk than a question. 

Orlando looked at Elijah. "If you were a girl, I could have saved for a ring," his voice gruff, "and done things proper like." 

Elijah's arms tightened around Orlando, the desperation from before resurfacing. "Come with me." 

Orlando turned in his arms, his starlight shadow covering Elijah. "I can't." Everything he wanted, but couldn't make happen, in his kiss. 

\+ 

A few minutes before dawn, Orlando pulled up to the far side of the barn and unhitched the wagon. It wasn't until he'd unloaded the last tool and bedded down the horse that he noticed a dappled mare sleeping in the extra stall. 

When he came around the other side, there was an unfamiliar wagon drawn up next to the house. In the wagon was a piano forte tied to a heap of crates and household sundries. 

He jumped when the back door opened and his mother poked her head outside. "You're back late enough for breakfast." Her stare sharp. "From a barn raising." She sniffed. "You'd better get washed up and get in here. Your brother's finally home. And he's brought him a wife. And you a new brother." 

\+ 

"Ma says you gone back to school." Eric kicked Orlando's foot against the stair and sat down next to him on the front stoop. 

Orlando grimaced. That only took two days. 

Eric elbowed him in the arm. "What for? There's plenty to do around here. And you never could read good anyway." 

"I couldn't read well," Orlando corrected, automatically. "But I can now. I'm just slow is all." He returned the gesture with a sharp elbow in Eric's ribs. 

Eric snorted. "You don't need to read, except for the Bible and letters." He spit on the ground between his feet. "The preacher takes care of the first and you don't get none of the second. Besides, you're grown." 

"Don't get any," Orlando muttered and stood up, walking to the hitching post, kicking the dirt against the base. "There's nothing wrong with trying to be better." 

"You sound different, too." Eric looked up at the sound of a horse, watching the lone rider come up the dirt road to the house. "We got company, Ma," he shouted, but didn't move to get up. 

Orlando stood frozen, watching as Elijah rode right up to him, hair dark and wild from the ride, black suit absorbing the sunlight around him. He took the bundle of books from Elijah's hands, clutching them tightly. 

Elijah dismounted. 

Orlando nearly dropped the books trying to keep his hands away from Elijah's waist. 

Elijah dusted off his immaculate shirtfront and touched the bridge of his glasses, lenses glinting in the afternoon sun. "I brought your lessons. And those two books I told you about." 

Orlando could only nod. 

Elijah glanced at the man staring at them from the front porch, then turned his gaze on Orlando. "You didn't come to school yesterday." 

Orlando shook his head. 

Elijah's voice dropped. "School's out at the end of next week. For the summer." Searching Orlando's face. "I bought a ticket to Boston. I leave on Sunday. Platform two, at noon." 

"Orlando, who's your friend and is he staying for supper? Ma wants to know,” Eric asked from the porch. 

Orlando and Elijah looked up at him. He was watching them closely. 

Orlando glanced at Elijah, then his brother, reluctantly moving towards the house. "It's the teacher, Mr. Wood." He led Elijah across the barren yard. "Eric, this is Mr. Wood. Professor, this is Eric, my older brother." 

Elijah's vision returned to normal, the red fading. "Pleased to meet you, Eric." He straightened his jacket and held out his hand. 

Eric took it, shaking it firmly. "Pleasure." Not a lot of it in the word, a smirk lurking around his lips. "Professor." 

Orlando frowned. "Eric's just back from prospecting in California," he said, and unable to resist added, "No gold though. Just a wife with a full grown brother." 

Eric took it in stride. "A rich wife, don't forget. Gots her own piano forte." He pointed to the piano still strapped to the back of the wagon. "And an extra pair of hands comes in mighty useful on a farm, as you might expect." 

"Excellent." Elijah smiled. "Are you passing through, Eric? Or here to stay?" 

Orlando turned his frown on Elijah. He never uses Christian names. Except one. On occasion. The memory sent color swimming to his cheeks. 

Eric spit between Elijah's feet, moving the tobacco wad to the other side of his lip. "Staying. It's time to settle down and whip this farm into shape, seeing as how it'll be mine one day." Eric slapped Orlando on the shoulder. "Specially since this runt could barely manage it without me." He turned a sharp gaze on Elijah. "What with all that unnecessary schooling." 

Elijah remained expressionless. "I see." 

"Stay to supper?" Eric asked, just the other side of polite. 

"No." Elijah shook his head, his smile thin. "Thank you, I have papers to grade." He turned to Orlando. "The calculus is the blue one, physics the red. There's more reading in physics, but the numbers should be easy enough," his smile genuine, "for you." He straightened his jacket again and nodded at Eric. "It was nice to meet Orlando's brother. Sounds like you'll make an excellent caretaker for this farm." He was halfway to his horse before he turned around and looked at Orlando, his stare splitting the air between them. "Will I see you at school tomorrow?" 

Orlando glanced at Eric, then Elijah, and slowly shook his head. 

Elijah vaulted onto his horse, pulling the reins so hard the horse backed up a few steps. Elijah looked right at Orlando. "Noon. Next Sunday. Platform two." And rode at a full gallop back down the road. 

\+ 

"Uppity fella." Eric spit again. "Short, too." 

Orlando set the books down carefully on the porch. "He's not uppity." 

"Is too. 'Excellent caretaker', my butt." He pointed at Orlando. "You listen to me. I seen his type in California. Lots of money, thinking it gives them the right to run the place. And all them fancy words." He shook his head. "You're not going to that school again, d'you hear? There's work to be done around here and you're not going to waste perfectly good farming hours with him trying to fill your head with useless information." 

"It's not useless." Orlando's hands curled into fists. "He's a good teacher, the best we've ever had." 

"You steer clear of him." Eric lifted the wad of tobacco from his mouth with a dirty finger and flicked it to the ground, grinding it under his boot. "He's got a sideways way about him and I've seen those type too, with their queer looks and womanly ways. That's downright abomination, s'what that is." 

Orlando didn't make a sound. Just pulled back his arm and punched him. Hard. 

Eric went over like a sack of potatoes, feet flying over his head as he thumped down the stairs. He stared up incredulously at Orlando, one shaky hand smearing through the blood that dripped from his nose. 

"You ever talk about him like that again, brother or not, it'll be the twelve gauge instead of my fist," Orlando said. He stepped over Eric, picked up his books and walked calmly into the house. 

\+ 

With every day that passed, Elijah's hope fell another notch. He caught himself staring at the empty desk at the back of the room too often when conducting a lesson. The days crawled and flew. Then it was Friday and his farewell dinner at the Jackson's. 

Saturday his trunks were packed. He waited until after supper to drag them down the stairs. 

He didn't sleep much Saturday night and watched the sun rise over the woods on Sunday morning. The same direction as Orlando's farm. 

He was at the station two hours early, first in line when the station master opened the ticket window. He checked the two thick rectangles of paper in his watch pocket every quarter hour, fingertips wearing down the edges. One bought with resignation. One bought with hope.

Walking to the front of the platform, he made sure that his trunks were loaded in the baggage car. The conductor assured him they were. 

Elijah paced the length of the platform a dozen times during the last half hour. He checked the waiting room twice. 

At five minutes to twelve his chest started to feel tight. Like an old man climbing a hill, he lurched up the narrow stairs into the Pullman car at the back of the train. He found the private compartment and sat down in the seat, then changed to the bench near the window. He checked his watch pocket. Two tickets. 

The whistle blew twice. "All aboard!" Steam flooded the track as the engine and cars lurched forward. 

Elijah closed his eyes. The ache cracked and then broke inside him, the pain burning deeper with each foot the train rolled forward. 

Then there was a shout. 

And another. 

They were words that sounded like run and he'll never make it. 

Elijah sat up. People in the other compartments were hurrying down the aisle and looking out windows. Headed for the back of the train. 

Elijah bolted, shoving past other passengers as he raced for the anteroom at the back. He threw himself through the door at the very end of the train, narrowly catching himself on the rail, squinting against the sunlight. 

Someone was running, long legs eating up the worn planks of the platform, one hand clutching a traveling bundle under one arm. 

Elijah's heart slammed into the top of his head, making him slightly dizzy. The end of the platform was approaching. "Orlando." He jumped to the last step and stretched out his arm. "Orlando!" He shouted, laughter and fear and joy and terror singing through the word. 

Orlando ran faster. The wind caught his hat and yanked it off his head. He abandoned the bundle, flinging it away as he ran. Ran so fast he thought he was going to fly off the end of the platform. 

It ended. 

So he jumped. 

And Elijah caught him. 

They both nearly fell, one pair of feet swinging over the gravel before another found better footing. They scrambled, stumbling up the narrow metal stairs, breathing hard once they were standing safely on the anteroom floor. 

Elijah still had a hold of Orlando's hand, squeezing so hard the bones popped in protest. Orlando left it where it was. "I don't even know where Europe is." 

Elijah laughed. Laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks and he had to fumble for his handkerchief. "That's okay. I have a map." 

THE END


End file.
